Dragons and Their Tamers
by RainThestral93
Summary: Charlie finds out what Hermione's been reading, and is surprised: "Dragons and Their Tamers," Charlie grinned as he picked up the book. "Didn't know you were a big Dragon fan, Hermione," noticing with a certain degree of pleasure the blush that crossed the younger girl's face. "Or is it the dragon tamers you're more interested in?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.


**A/N:** So I've never written Charlie/Hermione before. This is just a brief exploration of a potential relationship between the duo - I'd love to know what you think, so please read and review - Beth :) xx

* * *

**Dragons and Their Tamers**

Charlie Weasley found himself lying awake in his rickety bed – the bed that hadn't been changed in all his twenty-five years of life, and which consequently meant that his feet hung off the edge by a good foot or so. The rain on the roof of the Burrow was enough to keep him awake; he was a light sleeper at the best of times, and besides, he missed laying under a star-lit night sky, falling asleep to the sounds of dragons roaring. As much as he loved coming home, it was never quite the same as life in Romania, where he worked as a dragon tamer. Sighing, he slipped his dragon hide slippers on and made his way downstairs, careful to jump the false step outside Fred and George's room (which they'd fixed to so as to alert them if Ginny ever decided to be promiscuous and make her way up to Harry's room. The couple had been caught red handed many a time). He ran a hand through his bed hair, yawning as he made his way into the living room, surprised to realise that he had company.

Hermione Granger was reading in the careworn armchair in front of a dying fire. He ambled over, and stoked the blaze, causing her to jump as she looked up at the intruder to her peace, "Oh hey Charlie," she smiled fondly, for during his stay at the burrow – he was on holiday from work – she'd spent a few nights in the amicable company of the second oldest Weasley boy.

"Couldn't sleep either?" He grinned. "Want me to fix you some cocoa? I was going to get myself some," he added, by means of explanation.

"Sure," she smiled sleepily. "Sounds good."

Hermione placed her bookmark in her tome, marking her place as she shut it and put it down, thanking Charlie graciously as he handed her a steaming cup of chocolately liquid.

"What you reading?" the older wizard asked conversationally, as he flopped onto the sofa next to the brunette, cursing as he did so for he'd spilt a large proportion of his bedtime drink all over his pyjama shirt. Sighing, and used to being burnt, what with working with dragons and all, he whipped the now stained shirt over his head, and sat there in nothing but his pyjama trousers.

Hermione, shocked at how readily Charlie had volunteered his torso, took a large gulp of her hot chocolate and scalded her tongue. She cursed, mentally.

"You OK?" She checked, and Charlie shrugged, Hermione noting the delicate shape of his collar bones and the way his sculpted torso led down to a trail of copper coloured hair that disappeared tantalisingly into his trousers.

"Fine," Charlie grinned, "I'm just clumsy, and that's all."

"Any excuse to rip your shirt off, eh?" Hermione teased, surprisingly herself with how confident she sounded. Because really, she wasn't feeling confident at all.

"You know me too well," he chuckled deeply. He liked the way Hermione and he easily shared banter, the no nonsense back-and-forth way she countered his every jibe.

"_Dragons and Their Tamers,_" Charlie grinned as he picked up Hermione's book. "Didn't know you were a big Dragon fan, Hermione," noticing with a certain degree of pleasure the blush that crossed the younger girl's face. "Or is it the dragon tamers you're more interested in?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Okay, okay," Hermione conceded, laughing. "Whilst I've been absolutely terrified of dragons ever since Norberta set Hagrid's beard alight in our first year, I have to admit I may have somewhat of an interest in their tamers," she supplied, mystically. Charlie raised an eyebrow; whilst he had been teasing her, he hadn't expected her to be quite so honest.

"Only somewhat of an interest?" He'd teased, as instinctively he had reached out and traced a finger along the line of Hermione's jaw, dipping to trace the outline of her collar bones. He noticed with a certain feeling of satisfaction, the way the girl's pulse quickened under his touch, and the way her breath got hitched in her throat.

"Okay, a rather large interest," she'd given in, her voice nothing more but a whisper, as Charlie dipped his face to the crook of her neck, inhaling her delicate scent and sending Hermione's heart fluttering at about fifty thousand miles an hour.

"And is there a dragon tamer in particular that's warranted your extra special interest?" Charlie demanded, surprisingly confident, given the way his own heart was fluttering in his chest.

"Maybe," Hermione remarked coyly, "And if there were then he's most likely to be found on the other side of this couch to me," she breathed, and at this admission, Charlie's lips found themselves inexplicably drawn to those belonging to the bookworm and resident know-it-all, Hermione Jean Granger.

And _boy_was she a good kisser, he chuckled throatily, as his lips melded with hers, their tongues battling for dominance as they both illustrated their previously ignored urges. Charlie found his hand winding in the brunette's unruly head of hair, his other hand stroking the skin at the small of her back, making her skin itch with raw desire as he struggled to savour this moment and not take things too far too quickly. They both broke apart, taking a much needed gulp of oxygen, and looked at each other surprise.

Nobody had seen it coming, but that was the start of Hermione Granger and Charlie Weasley's relationship, which would last for many decades to come.

* * *

Charlie asked curiously from where he was sorting through boxes of his stuff at the burrow, his girlfriend perched on his bed flicking through a Quidditch magazine. "How come you hate Quidditch so much, when all the men that you've ever fancied or dated have played?"

Hermione groaned half-heartedly – it was typical for the conversation to turn to Quidditch; after all, Charlie was even more enthusiastic about the sport than Ron and Harry – and that was saying _a lot_. Hermione shrugged nonchalantly, knowing the real answer to that question, but not particularly wanting to disclose it, "Coincidence?" She tried, but Charlie Weasley was smart, and he knew more than anything when the Gryffindor know-it-all was fibbing. He raised an eyebrow and flopped onto the creaky bed alongside her. Sooner or later, they'd have a place to themselves, and wouldn't have to worry about the noises they made.

He drew her to him, distracting her as his hands gently traced the hem of her t-shirt as she prepared her answer. When his fingers slipped under the warm fabric, her breathing hitched at the touch of his calloused finger tips – covered in scars and burns which Hermione had come to love the feel of, as they traced over her delicate skin.

"I don't _hate_Quidditch," she reasoned diplomatically, and a good job too, for Charlie would have surely stopped what he was doing in order to have a heated debate about Quidditch with her, otherwise. "Just I'm not especially interested in it, like say I am in –"

"Elfish welfare?" Her boyfriend cut in cheekily, earning him a roll of his eyes.

"Exactly," she huffed. "Besides, not _all_my boyfriends have been Quidditch players. I went out with McLaggen; he's hardly good enough to be considered a player," reasoned the intelligent witch.

Charlie scoffed, "If we're going with that then Ron isn't a Quidditch player, he sucks," and Hermione laughed. Ron really was hopeless at Quidditch – nonetheless he enjoyed it, and she supposed that was all that mattered.

"Still, seems like my little bookworm's got herself a certain filament for the jock type. What's that all about, humph?" He chuckled.

Hermione blushed, realising there was truth founded in Charlie's accusation. "Like I said," she smiled, "coincidence."

"Don't you lie, missy," the older boy teased as he trailed kisses up her neck. He really was quite distracting, Hermione noted. "Coincidence covers Krum and maybe Ron. But McLaggen? Wood? Me? I'm not buying it," he grinned.

"Fine then," Hermione conceded, pretending to sulk, until Charlie kissed her, and she felt herself involuntarily smile against his lips. She pushed his shoulder and he allowed her to roll them over so that she was straddling his waist, smirking down at him as she assumed the position of control which the Gryffindor bookworm favoured. He chuckled to himself, knowing that really if he wanted to he could pick her up with one hand, she was light as a feather, but certainly no match for his mind and other, ahem, manly appendages, as she kissed him so that his trail of thought dissipated. The removal of her shirt had certainly been a nice touch, he mused.

A few moments passed of Charlie allowing Hermione to have her way with him, and then he broke apart. "Seriously, what's with the Quidditch player fetish?" He grinned.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm shirtless in your bed and you want to discuss my relationship history? I will never understand you, Charlie Weasley," she sighed as she sank back into his arms.

"Stop trying to change the subject," He teased.

"Call me shallow, but it's a well-known fact that Quidditch is a strenuous sport in which players can rack up some serious muscle pretty quickly. Put it this way, I like my men lean, mean, and like a machine," Hermione chuckled, blushing at her admission.

Charlie's fingers stopped from where they'd been tracing gentle patterns on her stomach. His eyes had suddenly lit with something unfamiliar to Hermione, but she wasn't nervous as he lowered his lips to hers, biting at her bottom lip.

"Oh you do, do you?" He growled throatily, as his kissed trailed down her throat.

But she didn't get to finish because opened her mouth to speak, and her eyes met his own clouded ones, he was lost. He groaned from deep within himself and flipped her over, kissing her long and hard as he quite literally ripped off his white cotton shirt.

"_Merlin_, Hermione," he growled as he tore at his own belt buckle, "I am going to just…god…" He spat, as it seemed the Gryffindor bookworm had rendered him speechless.

Sex with Charlie had always been spectacular, and yet this was something else entirely. She was so lost in the pure pleasure of him as he trailed his calloused fingers up the length of her, that she hardly noticed what he was saying. But her heart stammered when she heard three words, plain and clear. The words he uttered weren't dirty, which would perhaps suit his current mood somewhat better; instead they were the sweetest words anyone could ever utter. Words that Hermione had been willing Charlie to say for a good month or so, as the words threatened to spill out of her own mouth, first.

Three simple words, and with no hesitation, Hermione uttered them too, as she fell over the edge into a state of unadulterated bliss. "I love you," she sighed against his neck, as he captured her lips in a final kiss, which spoke volumes, far more than the intimate display of affection they'd experienced mere moments ago.

A good hour or so later, Hermione mumbled against Charlie's neck, "Charlie?"

"Yes, princess?"

"I actually really do hate Quidditch, I'm afraid," she admitted meekly.

"Like I care about that when I've got such a beautiful witch such as yourself as my girlfriend," Charlie chuckled as he ruffled her hair, "That," he grinned, "We can fix, promise."

* * *

Charlie Weasley nervously paced the flat that he'd recently purchased in Diagon Alley. It had become increasingly difficult for him and his girlfriend of nearly a year now, to sneak back to the family home after a late night out, and even more so given that Charlie's bed was somewhat small, and creaked, at that.

He'd spent the better part of an hour prepping himself for his anniversary meal – all he knew was that his heart was currently racing faster than Viktor Krum could fly on a broomstick, and that was pretty god damn fast.

Surveying himself critically in the mirror, before deciding that the grey suit trousers and white cotton shirt, slightly unbuttoned, was as good as it was going to get, he took one glance at an ornate gold pocket watch that had a dragon etched into the casing – Hermione had picked it up for him in a Muggle thrift store – he apparated straight to the restaurant, where Hermione would be arriving straight from work. A good ten minutes or so early, Charlie worried the sleeves of his shirt for the millionth time that evening; growing increasingly nervous given the velvet jewellery box resting in his coat pocket.

In the nine thousand, one hundred and thirty one days that Charlie Weasley had been present on the planet, he had been unable to be pinned down by any of the witches which had thrusted themselves in the handsome redhead's direction. None of the girls he'd slept with had ever had quite the effect that Hermione Jean Granger had on the dragon tamer, though. In the three hundred and sixty five days that he'd been dating the Gryffindor lioness, Charlie's heart had performed more somersaults than he could have ever anticipated it would, and he'd shared more meaningful nights sleeping with his witch safely entombed in his arms than he had nights with other witches altogether. Hence the velvet box residing in his jacket pocket.

He paced nervously; Hermione had clearly had a busy day at work and was struggling to get away from the office.

"You could have gone inside you know," a familiar voice chided her boyfriend affectionately. He shrugged.

"I thought it would be nice to go inside together," he admitted, swallowing as he took in the chocolate coloured orbs that gazed up at him. She was beautiful, this he already knew, but the red dress that clung to her familiar curves, was very much appreciated, he noted as he felt a rush of blood to a certain part of his body. He gulped, struggling to control his urges – they weren't even inside the restaurant yet, and she already had him wanting to pounce on her, and make her his like he had countless times before.

"That shirt looks familiar," she smirked, "I appear to be experiencing a case of amnesia though. All I can remember is it lying on my bedroom floor, perhaps you'll have to remind me what happened to get it there," she quipped cheekily, as he placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

"I would be more than delighted to relive that _experience_," Charlie growled throatily, "But for now perhaps we ought to eat, build up our stamina, no?"

"If you insist," Hermione pouted, much to the amusement of her boyfriend.

"Oh and happy anniversary," he murmured, as he gently guided her into the restaurant. "A year with Hermione Granger, who'd have thought."

"Mhmm," Hermione remarked dryly, "Charlie Weasley being monogamous, now there's a thought."

Charlie chuckled, bending down to kiss her tenderly, just as the waiter asked them for their reservation. Then he remembered the bouquet of lilies in his hand, and realising he looked like somewhat of an idiot holding them, pressed them into her delicate hands, his own calloused ones grazing her soft skin as he did so.

"These are for you," He murmured, and chuckled again when Hermione remarked drolly,

"Oh really? I thought they were for the waiter, my apologies," she giggled, and then added, "They're lovely, thank you, my favourites."

"Anything, for my favourite witch," Charlie quipped, his grin oozing charm as the waitress they'd been assigned to, struggled to keep her eyes off him.

The meal went smoothly – their starters were delicious, and conversation flowed, with Hermione recounting amusing snippets of conversation she frequently overheard between different ministry employees.

It was after desert, a delicious tiramisu that rivalled the one that Molly Weasley made, that Hermione noticed her boyfriend was growing increasingly agitated. She suspected, that given the bulge she'd spotted in his pocket, he had a question he wanted to ask her. It wasn't a matter of _if_ – more a matter of _when_, for Hermione had found the box in Charlie's dresser by accident about a month or so before. She'd bitten her tongue and waited in silence for him to finally work up the courage – after all, she already knew what her answer was going to be.

With the tension mounting, after Charlie had knocked over his rather expensive glass of wine, Hermione cracked.

"You seem a little stressed – was everything OK at work?" She prompted, kindly, knowing Charlie had never asked anyone quite as serious a question before.

"Erm yeah," he admitted. "Work was fine. The only reason I seem on edge is because I wanted to ask you something,"

"Mhmm?" She nodded, looking right into his big blue eyes, filled with love and sincerity.

"This isn't really how I had it planned – I wrote a speech and everything but sitting across from you now, all I can think of is how beautiful you are. In this past year you've tamed my heart, and there's nothing I want more than for you to be mine. Completely and utterly mine, for I never want to let you go. Will you marry me?" Charlie finished breathlessly, fumbling with the clasp on the ring box as he did so. He snapped it open, and Hermione gasped at the beautiful white gold band with a diamond set in the middle of it.

"Of course Charlie! I love you!" She exclaimed, all thoughts of _her_speech flying out the window, as she ignored the food in front of her, leaning over and capturing her new fiancés mouth in a passionate kiss.

Charlie sighed in relief, "Thank god that's over," he admitted, and his soon-to-be-bride chuckled as she tucked her head in the crook of his neck, as he slung his arm round her waist, drawing her to him protectively as they left the restaurant.


End file.
